The Journey is the Reward

It could not have been more perfect

It could not have been more perfect.

I turned off the main road and out towards rolling countryside. Backroads upon backroads and twists and turns. I drove past horses in paddocks and harvested fields. The houses got bigger and farther apart. I breathed deeply and after all these months of planning and waiting to finally be able to take my next move, and the first real one towards my new life, I finally felt like I could relax.

I turned off Flowing Spring Road and GPS told me I had reached my destination. The house before me was perfect. I hadn’t been here before but I had known I was coming for a while. I liked the idea of being surprised…and I was, pleasantly. On the corner was a very typical Pennsylvania small, historic town “General Store/Post Office” which still housed the post office for Birchrunville and now the Birchrunville Store Cafe. Quaint. Perfect. The place I was going was the big old farmhouse across the street and running along its side was the flowing spring. A small bridge was the walkway to the front door. There waiting for me on the brisk October morning was Brenda waiting to give me a hug.

Next she showed me to my room. I could be living in a closet for all I care “My girls are going to love it here” was all that was running through my head. Out in the very grande foyer was a room that Brenda had designated just for me and my girls. Its got built-ins and a fire-place and king sized bed for us Three Musketeers and it’s separate enough from the rest of the house with our doggie gate we can have our own space. I am speechless. It is perfect.

our bedroom

our sitting area

A quick tour followed and Brenda bounded off to do her life things for the day while I unpacked my 4 plastic totes and 2 dogs. I had my books and movies unloaded in half an hour. I jumped back in my car and head to Caroline’s so we could go grab my bookshelf/desk. We arrived back to the house, unloaded my things while the girls ran and splashed through the flowing spring (I knew they’d love it).

Out of corner of my eye I saw a man approaching wearing a chef’s coat with hands in his pocket. “Uh, this is not public parking,” he said quietly. I’d only been here half a day and I was not looking to make trouble. I replied, “Oh. I live here,” called my girls to me, Caroline pulled off, and we walked into the house.

Hours later when Brenda returns home she tells me who it was that I had met; Francis Trzeciak, owner and operator of the Birchrunville Store Cafe and owner of my perfect new place, and that she had forgotten to check with him on the okayness of my temporary lodgings. That would explain the confused look when I told him I lived there because I’m certainly not his silver-haired, mother of 3 children, ex-wife.